


the story of us

by aac7



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, F/M, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Student AU, a lot of drama, fluff with a hefty dose of angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:55:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28141998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aac7/pseuds/aac7
Summary: Claude knew that if Byleth could have had it her way, their wedding would have been a cozy, intimate event. They’d be exchanging vows under a gazebo, their nuptials witnessed by only close friends and family.Then again, if Byleth could have had anything her way, Claude was pretty sure this wedding wouldn’t be happening in the first place.
Relationships: My Unit | Byleth/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 44
Kudos: 65





	1. the one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> changed the title from closure to “the story of us” also by taylor swift

_Imperial Year 1186_

_26th of the Blue Sea Moon_

Claude had never been a religious person. Even if the goddess of Fódlan had a plan for each and every one of them, Claude hated the idea of leaving his fate in her hands. When it came down to it, you could only really rely on yourself.

Of course, miracles could happen. There were some things that just occurred out of our control. Things that only add up if you believe in the concept of fate. 

Fate came in the form of a single thread of gold that tied him to her. 

But Claude did also believe in karma. For it wasn’t a function of the divine spirit, and wasn’t something that one prayed for or prayed away. Karma was earned through the virtue of deeds. What goes around comes around.

As he stared up at the roof of Garreg Mach’s cathedral - the holiest place in all of Fódlan - he wondered if this was karma’s idea of cosmic justice. Or some kind of twisted joke. Maybe it was the wrath of a goddess he never really believed in. Why else would he be forced to experience a titular moment of his life in a place where he’d never quite felt comfortable?

Claude knew that if Byleth could have had it her way, their wedding would have been a cozy, intimate event. They’d be exchanging vows under a gazebo, their nuptials witnessed by only close friends and family.

Then again, if Byleth could have had anything her way, Claude was pretty sure this wedding wouldn’t be happening in the first place.

Late at night when they’d sat up discussing their future, she’d once expressed the desire for their union to be a simple affair. Marriage was a special and sacred thing, something so intimate and personal that only beloved friends and family should bear witness to. They’d both known a small wedding was never a possibility due to the demands of both their stations, but Claude had been more than happy to entertain her fantasies. 

The marriage of the future Archbishop to a king was no small affair. It was a union that affected Fódlan in its entirety, and the nobles from all over the continent had gathered to witness the nuptials. Even if the nobles were just here to gossip and grumble about when their own children would get married, who was Byleth if not the all welcoming soon-to-be matriarch of all things good and holy?

That being said, Claude knows better and he knows that Byleth does too. The room is full of strangers and it’s not intimate or special. _It’s just political,_ she’d frowned when the guests had started arriving a week prior. He wondered how she truly felt, sharing this part of her life with a roomful of people who didn’t truly know her the way her friends and family know her. The way _he_ knows her.

Claude pushes the thought from his mind. Today is supposed to be a happy day. The crowd may be overflowing with unfamiliar faces, but there are still people here who care. He can still zero in on those familiar faces nestled in the crowd with ease. Leonie stands to attention at the doors, her white and red armour shined to perfection. Raphael and Ignatz sit side by side and chat with Lysithea, who sits in the row behind them between her parents. Claude’s eyes eventually meet Hilda’s, and she frowns at him.

Claude looks away. He can’t do this, not today. 

Their friends from Faerghus and Adrestia are there too. He spots Annette in the front row, chatting excitedly with Ashe and Petra. Dorothea stands with the choir, adjusting the pages on her music stand. A vibrant flash of red draws his eye to where Edelgard and Hubert sit side by side, whispering in each other’s ears. What he wouldn’t give to listen in on that conversation.

The organ starts it’s hauntingly beautiful tune when the massive oak doors at the entrance of the cathedral open. Claude can hardly focus now. He feels his heart rate steadily increase as his fingers drum against his leg. With the groomsmen already down the aisle, it’s time for the bridesmaid’s to blaze their trail. 

He blinks rapidly and wipes a bead of sweat from his brow as Byleth’s bridal party walks down the aisle before him. Sitri walks down first, followed by Marianne, then Ingrid, and finally Flayn, who reaches into her basket and scatters white rose petals along the aisle. 

Dorothea’s clear voice breaks through the quiet murmurs, acting as the signal to stand. Claude shifts nervously in his spot as everyone turns to get a look at the bride. 

Byleth looks beautiful, as expected. Well, she could come out draped in nothing but burlap and he’d still think her divine. She’s not wearing her mother’s simple white gown and veil. Instead, her wedding dress was spun from heavenly white silks, finely embroidered with rich threads of gold and complete with a deep navy cloak. Instead of a simple braid woven with wildflowers, her hair has been drawn into an intricate knot at the nape of her neck, leaving the smooth, pale expanse of her throat and shoulders exposed. Claude longs to place languid kisses along its entirety. 

He can’t take his eyes off of her - nor does he want to. Byleth looks ethereal as she walks down the aisle on Jeralt’s arm. Lilies rest above each of her temples, held in place by the Enlightened One diadem that had never fit her quite right. They’re also the focal point of her bouquet, and Claude knows she would have prefered gladiolus or something simple like valerian.

When she reaches the altar, Jeralt kisses her cheek, squeezing her hand one last time before placing it into Dimitri’s waiting one. Claude’s heart sinks into his stomach as he watches them walk up to the altar.

Karma, Claude decided then, was a bitch.

  
  


**~ ~ ~**

**One Week Earlier**

  
  


_In my defence, I have none_

_For digging up the grave another time_

_But it would’ve been fun_

_If you would’ve been the one_

_\- ‘the 1’ Taylor Swift_

**______________________ **

  
  


It’s the middle of summer, but the entrance hall where their makeshift reunion is taking place still feels cold. At first Claude thinks it’s because he’s been in Almyra for so long, and Fódlan summers in the mountains are equivalent to brisk Almyran winters. 

But all it takes is one fleeting glance towards familiar viridian green eyes for it to become apparent that the chill seeping into his bones isn’t a matter of re-acclimating. Byleth holds his gaze for a half second before promptly turning away.

She might as well have slapped him in the face - because that definitely stung. 

It's been five _long_ years since he’d seen the regal halls of Garreg Mach monastery. Five years since he’d seen any of his old classmates. They seem hesitant to say hello, and whether that’s due to spite or just plain shyness, Claude isn’t sure. He can’t exactly fault them for it, he wouldn’t want to talk to him either. He leans against the wall, watching as the other Golden Deer reunite, mingling with former Blue Lions and Black Eagles. 

On the other side of the hall, Byleth’s smile is just as beautiful as he remembers, still making his chest flutter and his knees turn to gelatin.

It’s Claude that turns away this time, squeezing his eyes shut for a second and wondering if all of this was worth it. Coming back was always going to be painful and he knows that, but it’d do him no good to ignore the shadow of regret that had loomed over him for all these years. The olive branch had been extended, and he’d be a fool not to take it.

He’s in the process of wallowing in something between brooding and self-pity when Raphael greets him with a shout and literally shakes him out of his funk. The man seems to have gained more muscle, wrapping Claude into a crushing bear hug that lifts him off the floor. 

Claude tries to ignore the fact that the majority of the room is watching him get smushed into the man’s broad chest. “Raphael,” he breathes once his feet are on the ground again and the initial shock wears off. “How are you, man?”

“I’m good! But...everyone is wondering how you are.” Claude bites back a scoff. Somehow he finds that highly unlikely. “So how are you?”

Claude smiles, though he hardly knows where to begin. He was extremely sleep deprived and very stressed. Not to mention his heart felt as if it had been ripped from his chest, stomped on, and thrown from a very high place. “I’m doing great.”

Ignoring his vehement protests, Raphael takes him by the arm, dragging him into the heart of the crowd. The hug seems to have eased some of the tension floating between him and his former classmates, and though the greetings are hesitant, they’re still greetings nonetheless. He finally learns of the amazing things they’ve gotten up to since graduation. 

Raphael served his liege lord as a knight for four years, and had recently resigned to help upkeep the inn that he had helped his grandfather and sister open using a part of his salary. Leonie had joined the Knights of Seiros to continue studying under Captain Jeralt. She’d quickly moved up through the ranks and was now the youngest general in the history of the Knights. Ignatz had realized his dream of becoming an artist and was currently travelling Fodlan. Lysithea now works closely with Linhardt, and the two of them were taking crest research to new heights together. 

He’s in the middle of listening to Marianne speak of her work with Margrave Edmund when he’s greeted by another familiar face. “Ah, our prodigal Duke Reigan returns, and with a shining new title no less.” 

The smile on his face looks more genuine than Claude imagined it would, though words on a paper would never be enough to capture the essence of such a personality. “Lorenz. Time had slowed to a painful crawl as I waited to once again be graced with your presence.” 

After a brief handshake and an exasperated sigh, Lorenz sends him a slightly pained smile. “I find it amusing how little change you managed over such a long period of time, though that is to be expected from someone so stubborn.”

“Awe, just admit that you missed me. I brought some much needed challenge to your life.”

“Missing you implies that I liked you to begin with. If anything, handling the Alliance in your absence was more than challenging enough.”

That almost makes Claude feel guilty. Almost. “Which you never failed to mention in our correspondence.”

“If not for the combined efforts of Gloucester and Goneril, the Alliance would be in complete discord at present. It’s a miracle you were able to keep House Reigan’s position at the Roundtable.” 

Claude can’t argue with that because it _was_ a miracle that he’d been able to keep his position as sovereign duke. It’d been through the combined written efforts of him, Holst, and Lorenz, that House Riegan hadn’t been tossed aside like yesterday’s news. Loathe as he was to admit it, he owed an impressive debt to Lorenz Hellman Gloucester and—

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Claude von fucking Reigan. Duke of bullshit and king of lying.”

He feels the blood drain from his face at the bellow of the familiar voice. Wincing at the titles, he - and just about every other person in the room - turns to see a red-faced Hilda with her hands on her hips. When their eyes lock, she starts stomping towards him. Claude wants to run, he really does, but the crowd he wanted to melt into parts to grant her passage, and when Hilda tries, those little legs of hers can really move. 

So he stays frozen in place, swallowing thickly as she strides towards him. Even Lorenz takes a step back when she’s within arms reach, mouthing to him a quick ‘good luck.’ Now that she’s close, he can see the anger in her eyes. It’s the first time he’s ever seen her look so pissed, as she often saw anger as an unnecessary emotion. “Hilda, I—” 

Without breaking her stride, up flies her hand - adorned with what he knows is homemade jewelry - and her palm collides with his cheek with a resounding smack. She doesn’t stop to yell at him and just walks away without looking back, only stopping to hug a nervous looking Marianne and greet the rest of their classmates as if nothing had happened. 

After a collective gasp and momentary shock, the other guests return their idle chatter, a few of them sparing him questionable glances as they whisper. Mildly shocked and feeling moderately guilty, Claude cups his stinging cheek, his eyes wide as he watches her go. He deserved that.

“You deserved that.”

Claude hadn’t needed the confirmation, but hearing it from Byleth only added insult to injury. “I know.” He can feel her presence next to him, and out of the corner of his eye he can spot her familiar diadem nestled atop mint tresses.

“Hi,” she says flatly. He doesn’t have to look to know that her face is set with that painfully blank slate. 

“Your Grace,” he replies, still staring ahead. Claude’s entire body goes stiff as he stops himself from reaching out to her, or from just turning to look at her. One wrong move and he knows she won’t talk to him for the rest of the night, or possibly even the rest of the week. “Or are you also going by ‘Her Majesty’ now?”

“No, I hate—”

“Long titles,” he finishes, wishing for once in his life that his brain worked faster than his mouth. “You think they make people sound conceited and arrogant.” 

Byleth doesn’t verbally confirm or deny what he already knows is right. “And you? Are you going by Duke Reigan of Leicester or King Khalid of Almyra?” Her voice definitely isn’t flat this time. It’s bitter, laced with contempt and sprinkled with disdain. 

“You can call me whatever you want,” he offers lamely. Although if she were anything like Hilda, he’s sure that king or duke aren’t either of the things she would choose to call him at present. 

She doesn’t say anything further, and neither does he. Blessed with a silver tongue and a quick wit, it’s rare that Claude ever finds himself at a loss for words. He could talk circles around most of the nobility, but whenever he was around her he was left tongue tied, unable to form even a single coherent thought. 

And Byleth, her voice had once held a delicate warmth, but it’s been so long that he’d forgotten what that was supposed to sound like. She’d grown out of it, and he supposed that was to be expected after five years. Her current prerogative put deeper edges around her words.

“I guess congratulations are in order,” he starts awkwardly, wondering if he should stab himself with his own hidden dagger or wait for her to use her own. “On your engagement.”

Once upon a time, they’d discussed what their own nuptials would be like. Where the ceremony would be held, what dress she would wear, what flowers they would choose. Claude knew the answers by heart, but it was a dream that neither of them would ever see to fruition now. Once upon a time, he thought he’d be the one engaged to her. 

“Thank you,” she replies politely, the both of them quietly watching the King of Faerghus greet old friends. Dimitri definitely looks different from what Claude remembers. Not only was he taller and more physically imposing, he looks like he’d finally taken a much needed nap and started using conditioner. 

“You must be excited.”

There’s a brief pause as her eyes follow her fiancé. Perhaps hesitation? “I am.”

“I was surprised to receive an invitation.”

“I was surprised that you accepted.”

Honestly, he was too. The invitation had sat in his desk drawer for months, where its Blaiddyd blue wax taunted him and the Church of Seiros insignia called him a coward. He’d heard the news, of course, and thought that by hiding the physical evidence he could save himself from that heartache for the time being. But when he’d finally opened that damned envelope two months after he’d received it, Byleth’s signature at the bottom had been the final nail in the coffin. 

He could have said no. It would have been a lot easier to pen a letter of congratulations and be done with it. But after several weeks more of his brain battling his heart, the two had come to a compromise and he’d been powerless to resist. “Of course I came. I came for you.”

She scoffs unbelievingly, shaking her head. “You were on Dimitri’s guest list, not mine.”

Hilda’s slap definitely stung, but that single piece of knowledge _hurt,_ and it hurt in a place so deep he didn’t know if he’d ever recover. “Look, By, I’m—”

“Don’t,” she insists sharply, her head turning away.

“But—”

“Please,” she practically begs, and Byleth never begs for anything. “Just...don’t.” She sounds uncharacteristically soft, almost fragile, and the overwhelming sadness that hangs heavy between them breaks his heart once more.

“Can you just let me—”

She turns to face him then, and Claude shuts up when he finally gets a look at her. Her eyes betray the blank slate of her face. They’re narrowed, her gaze rigid and cold. She was glaring through him, not at him, burning a hole right through his skull. “If you try to apologize one more time I’m going to knock your teeth out.” 

He doesn’t doubt it. She would probably sock him right then and there, if he knew she weren’t thinking about how that would look. It’d certainly be quite the sight, the future Archbishop/Queen of Faerghus punching the King of Almyra/Duke of Leicester in the face. 

Byleth stalks off without another word, though he can feel her fuming and sees the tightness in her shoulders, hidden behind a white dress that he knows she hates. 

Someone places a gentle hand on his shoulder, giving a light squeeze. “Give her some time,” Sitri says as they watch her go. “She’s just hurt.”

He’d given her time, five years too much of it. “I shouldn’t have come,” he mutters. “She clearly doesn’t want me here. I’m the one who hurt her.” While he hadn’t come here expecting outright forgiveness, he’d at least wished to leave with the tentative beginnings of reconciliation.

“But you came anyway, and that’s a step in the right direction,” she says in that soft, motherly tone that’s almost enough to fool him into thinking everything would be okay. “You should tell her why you left.”

If only it were that easy. “I can’t.” 

Byleth’s mother sighs tiredly, patting his arm. “Well, until you do, I suggest you avoid Captain Jeralt. Byleth might be able to forgive you, but her father might take a little more convincing.” She points to something in his peripheral, and Claude follows her finger to see a very irritated Captain Jeralt Eisner glaring daggers at him. 

Sitri giggles and waves as Claude immediately averts his eyes elsewhere. “What makes you so sure that she’ll forgive me?”

“Because real love,” she says, reaching forward and slipping something into his pocket, “once blossomed, never disappears.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jeralt: that boy is two minutes away from expiring.  
> _____
> 
> Some notes:
> 
> \- Byleth grew up in the church, knowing who and what she was, including the true identities of Rhea/Seteth/Flayn
> 
> \- Jeralt and Sitri are alive simply because I want them to be
> 
> \- Byleth is the same age as Claude because I want her to be
> 
> \- The chapters are going to alternate between the past (1180) and present (1186).  
> \- folklore and evermore are SO GOOD so don’t be surprised if they’re used for 98% of the chapter titles.


	2. a string that pulled me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this update is long overdue, as i’ve put a lot of time into my long fic, which i shamelessly say you should check out if you haven’t already because it’s literally inspired by invisible string. 
> 
> if you want some [feels](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26873509/chapters/65569168)

_And isn’t it just so pretty to think_

_All along there was some_

_Invisible string_

_Tying you to me_

**___________________** ****

**Imperial Year 1180**

**20th of the Great Tree Moon**

  
  


Byleth was bored. 

It’s not a particularly new feeling to her, but she always feels especially so on the first day of the semester. It’s almost infuriating, standing idle at the doorway and greeting this year’s crop of students. Each year she and Flayn stand, longing to pass through the doors of the cathedral as students of the Officer’s Academy, and not as the Archbishop’s scion or an upstanding member of the church.

“Look alive, kid,” her father’s gruff voice teases, and Byleth looks up to find him suddenly standing at her side. Today he’s been strongarmed by her Uncle Seteth into wearing his red and white armour, complete with a deep crimson cape that never fails to make her mother swoon. “You know what bad posture does to a body.”

She straightens her back momentarily, hearing a few pops of her spine. “Did you get your class assignment yet?” She questions, sending another tight-lipped smile to a passing student. 

“Not until after the welcome mass,” he informs her, and Byleth deflates once again. “A lot of kids from the major noble houses are on this year’s roster. Those noble brats are always such a pain in my ass.”

Byleth and Flayn exchange a glance, the latter giggling while Byleth rolls her eyes. Rhea’s decision to make her father a professor a few years ago had certainly taken the faculty at the Officer’s Academy by surprise. According to his wife, Jeralt was too old to be heading out on month-long missions, and needed to start sticking closer to home. It wasn’t _just_ because of arthritis.

The compromise was that he would continue to oversee the Knights of Seiros, while the Officer’s Academy used his name as a cash grab. Even those without the deepest of pockets scrounge together what they can for the chance to study under the famed Captain Jeralt ‘the Blade Breaker’ Eisner.

Kind and patient as he was with her, Jeralt claimed he was used to training soldiers, not bright-eyed and bushy-tailed teenagers. He yelled, cursed, and was a strong believer in watching his students learn their strengths, and especially their weaknesses, the hard way. As unconventional as he and his methods of teaching were, his students loved him, had so far won every Battle of the Eagle and Lion, and even performed flawlessly on tactics and weapons exams. 

And eventually, Jeralt liked his students. A fact that Byleth lets him forget. “You call them brats, yet you cry at every graduation.”

Jeralt shoves her shoulder lightly, making her laugh. “I told you, it’s my spring allergies. Rhea needs to stop holding the damn thing in the gardens. There’s never enough seating and there’s pollen flying everywhere.”

“Pollen, right,” Byleth teases dryly. Flayn mouths something at her, nodding her head towards her father. “Speaking of Grandmother, did you talk to her about…” she waves her hand in the direction of the students filing into the cathedral. 

The corners of Jeralt’s playful smile dip into a frown. “You know how she feels about this already.”

Yes, she does know but she was going to keep asking anyways. Byleth was stubborn like that. “But I’m turning eighteen this year. She _promised—”_

“Rhea promises a lot of things,” Jeralt huffs in a tired tone reserved specially for his mother-in-law. “She promised to move last year's graduation ceremony to the cathedral, and did she?”

Grandmother hadn’t. Her father has gone through both of her mother’s handkerchieves due to ‘allergies.’ “But it’s not fair.”

His eyes soften slightly. “I know it’s not, but you know the rules, kid.”

The rules, as Byleth knew them, were:

  * Flayn was _not_ allowed to date


  * Byleth Eisner was not, in any way, shape or form, to be within radius of any sort of threat.
  * Curfew was 9pm (10pm on weekends)



Three armed guards selected by her grandmother followed her at all times, ensuring she was safe and that she _never_ left monastery grounds. _The world is a scary place,_ Rhea often reiterated. Full of thieves and liars and assassins who want nothing more than to steal her away and/or kill her.

But over the years, Byleth had known her grandmother to be a bit on the dramatic side. Surely not _everyone_ wanted to kill her. Byleth thought herself likeable enough. But even if they did, she would never _let_ them. She had backbone, wit, and most importantly, strength.

Not to mention she could turn back time. _That_ certainly should have been a game changer. 

“I’m an adult now, and I know how to handle a sword. You’re the one who taught me.” She knew better than how to ‘handle’ the weapon. Byleth could beat nearly every knight assigned to her guard. She gestured to a trio of students passing by. “My skill with a sword most likely surpasses these nobles could ever achieve.”

A boy with hair the shade of midnight immediately swivels his head around, amber eyes narrowing in a way that almost seems condescending as he assesses her.

Byleth scowls back at him in a way that Rhea would reprimand her for. Already she’d love the chance to kick his ass.

“Easy, kid,” Jeralt chuckles, grabbing her arm before she can levy her challenge on who she now recognizes as the heir to Fraldarius (she’d met him briefly at Faerghus’ last midwinter ball). She knew enough about the house to know that they produced fantastic swordsmen. “You won’t convince your grandmother _or_ your mother to let you join the Academy by starting a fight.”

“Then _you_ should convince them. Please, Father,” she pouts, clinging to his arm. “If you and Grandmother say yes, then Mother would be on board too.” To assume that her grandmother would say yes to begin with was akin to shooting an arrow in the dark, but Byleth would take her chances. She was just _so bored._

Bored of learning prayers and delivering blessings. Her voice was tired of singing hymns and her fingers ached from trying to play the harp - she sounded like a dying cat anyways. Since she’d turned sixteen, Byleth could no longer fathom standing where she always stood (at the head of the cathedral, to the right of the Archbishop). 

Jeralt’s lips press into a tight line, a sign that he was at least considering something. “Fine. No promises though. Do _not_ get your hopes up,” he warns before heading into the cathedral. Most likely making a break for it before Byleth can ask him for anything else.

Beside her, Flayn squeals excitedly, practically bouncing with barely controlled glee. “Oh, Byleth, this is so exciting! This year will certainly be the one!” 

Each year they swore that, but never had it been. She really hoped this year would be different.

**__________**

The theatrics of the annual welcome mass were something that Byleth dreaded participating in. She’d heard it at least a dozen times by now, and it was still about as stimulating as watching paint dry. And if she was bored, she could only imagine what the students felt. Of course the more devout students were listening intently, but the majority stared blankly ahead, most likely tuned out of the moment.

From her spot at the head of the cathedral, she could see them distracting themselves as a way to pass the time. Some played menial games with their friends like rock-paper-scissors. Others let their eyes wander aimlessly around the room, as if deciding the plant on the corner was more interesting than the Archbishop’s homily.

Some were simply napping, like the long-limbed redhead Byleth spots beside the Fraldarius heir or the green haired fellow clutching a book. She wished she could nap too, but she’d accidentally dozed off last year and the ensuing lecture had been painstakingly longer than the mass itself.

When Seteth gestures her forward to partake in the Blessing, Byleth resists the urge to groan loudly as she stands, finally able to stretch her legs. Flayn trails behind her as both she and Seteth flank the Archbishop. 

She’d be lying if she said this part didn’t interest her. It seemed to be that case for the rest of the students too, all of them straightening in their seats and diverting their attention to the front. It was the moment they’d figure out who amongst their peers had been selected as the three house leaders for the year. 

Byleth herself hadn’t seen this year’s roster, but when the three candidates make their way to the front, she isn’t at all surprised by the first two. She recognizes them instantly; prince Dimitri of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus and princess Edelgard of the Adrestian Empire. They were obvious choices, as the future monarchs of their respective countries. 

The third one, however, is a bit of a mystery to her. She vaguely recognizes him as the grandson of Duke Riegan, and the unexpected heir of the Leicester Alliance. Unlike the previous two, Byleth had never been properly acquainted with him. In fact, she’d only _heard_ of him through the way of Lady Judith, who’d vouched for his legitimacy as heir at the Eastern Church conference just last year. 

As luck would have it, the Alliance heir is positioned right in front of her, kneeling to receive a blessing. As the Archbishop drones on about the goddess’ guidance, Byleth’s first thought goes to the unruly mess of brown hair atop of the Alliance heir’s head. Did he not have a comb? 

“I’ve gotta say, you’re a lot more serious than I expected.”

The sound of his voice shocks her, the tone playful and nonchalant, so unlike the atmosphere of a typical church mass. He’s even looking right at her, when his head is meant to be bowed out of respect. 

Other than her, only Flayn seems to hear, biting her lip to keep from giggling. Byleth looks to see that her grandmother and uncle aren’t watching before leaning forward in the slightest. “You’re not meant to talk during these. It’s quite rude,” she informs him. Though she can’t deny the tingle of excitement coursing through her, reawakening the systems that listening to mass often put to sleep. 

Her light scolding doesn’t seem to faze him in the slightest. Instead his entire face brightens at her reply. “Are you going to interrupt mass to tattle on me?”

He’s much more flippant than she expected, lacking the noble disposition expected for someone of his standing. “Stop talking,” Byleth frowns, staring out at the pews to avoid his unsettling gaze. 

“As you wish, _Your Grace.”_ The use of her title isn’t lost on her, and neither is the mocking lilt it’s said in. She isn’t sure what to make of the future Duke Riegan, but the Alliance certainly had their work cut out for them. 

He doesn’t talk to her again as Grandmother wraps up her short spiel, his fingers tapping his thigh as he waits. Sitting idle must not be one of his strengths, an observation further proved when he begins humming quietly.

It’s Almyran children’s tune— the same one Cyril hums while cleaning.

Interesting. Who was he, with his unkempt hair and poor church etiquette? Humming Almyran tunes and teasing the heir to the Church of Seiros? He certainly was an enigma. 

Flayn holds a bowl of oil out to her, and Byleth is reminded that she would be blessing said enigma today. Dipping her thumb into the bowl, she coats the pad of her finger in the honey-toned liquid. 

Reaching down, her thumb meets the centre of his forehead, where Byleth traces a rough outline of the Crest of Seiros. “By my hand I bestow upon you the blessing of the Goddess Sothis. May she guide and protect you and your peers as your journey at the Officer’s Academy commences, and in all your future endeavours.” 

Her blessing is short and sweet, as always. When she beckons him to stand, she realizes with great disdain that he’s nearly a full head taller than her. Byleth does her best to ignore him when he winks. 

Flayn comes around again, this time handing Byleth a cape spun with golden yellow thread. The cape for the house leader of the Golden Deer. As she carefully unfolds the fine silk, she can feel his gaze boring into her, tracking each movement with such intense fascination that it makes her anxious. 

Her hand trembles as she pins the clasp to the lapel of his uniform, nervous that she’ll prick him and he’ll make some witty comment in retaliation. When she flips the cape over his shoulder, she lifts her eyes to meet his emerald gaze and his smirk morphs into a surprisingly warm smile. 

It immediately puts her on edge. How can something so warm and easy striking be paired with eyes that are so cold and calculating? She wished she could have imparted a blessing upon Dimitri, at least he doesn’t unsettle her like this.

“Claude von Riegan,” Byleth announces when she finally finds her voice. It’s barely loud enough for the other attendants to hear. “House leader of the Golden Deer, class of 1180.” 

The other two house leaders are announced, but Byleth can hardly focus anymore. For some inexplicable reason, she’s too focused on the one in front of her. 

How curious.

**__________**

Not soon after the welcome mass is concluded, Byleth is informed that the Archbishop requires her presence in her quarters.

Byleth notes the use of ‘requires’ and not ‘requests.’ A demand of her presence and not an invitation. In her experience, that was never a good thing. 

Knocking softly on the third floor Archbishop’s quarters, Byleth takes a deep breath before calling softy, “Grandmother?”

“Come in, love.”

The door opens with an embarrassingly loud creak as Byleth steps through. “You called for me?”

Rhea sits at the small table in the corner of the room, a freshly brewed pot of tea resting in front of her, accompanied by two porcelain cups. “Please, sit.”

Tea in Rhea’s room wasn’t all too unfamiliar for her, for the scent of chamomile always mixed quite nicely with the heavy air of disappointment.

Yet Byleth obliges, swallowing thickly as Rhea pours her a generous amount of chamomile tea. “I spoke with your father.”

Ah. Byleth had a feeling she knew where this was going. Feigning neutrality, Byleth takes a small sip of tea before placing her cup down. “Is that so?”

Rhea eyes her over the rim of the tea cup. “I’m not sure why it is that you’re so determined to attend the Officer’s Academy. Your father has already taught you everything you need to know concerning combat and tactical thinking. On top of that, I am more than willing to further your skills in magic.”

She catches on to what Rhea is implying. Who wouldn’t want to study the art of combat under _the_ captain of the Knights of Seiros, or study magic under _the_ Archbishop? While it was true that Byleth had unlimited access to some of the finest instructors in all of Fodlan, the grandeur of the aforementioned titles was lost, because to Byleth, they were still just her father and grandmother, people she saw and interacted during breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

Rubbing sweaty palms against the skirt of her gown, Byleth takes a deep breath before diving into the script that she had long prepared with Flayn. “The Academy boasts a wide variety of children of noble upbringing from all over the continent. As your heir, I believe that it is imperative that I begin to foster deep and meaningful relationships with those that I am destined to parley with in the future.” 

Or, to put it simply, “I want to make friends.”

Rhea seems taken aback by her impromptu declaration, teacup rattling loudly as she places it on it’s saucer, folding her hands in her lap. “You have plenty of people to talk to within the ranks of the Church. Everyone simply adores you.”

“Only because they _have_ to. I’m going to be their boss someday,” Byleth points out. The members of the Church stationed at Garreg Mach were kind enough people, always willing to lend her a hand or stop in the halls to partake in small talk about the weather. The gardeners always brought her fresh bouquets, the cooks always gave her extra cookies to take to her room, the nuns and bishops would never hesitate to help mend a hole in her cloak or straighten her diadem.

While she appreciated them for all that they did for her, they were simply part of the stagnant, everyday routine that she’d grown accustomed to, lacking the thrill of adventure she wished to someday experience. Byleth would forever be entertained when listening to Catherine, Shamir, and Alois’ misadventures, but she yearned to go out and experience them herself. 

Attending the Officer’s Academy meant that she would finally have adventures of her own, and with a group of friends that would be _hers._ She wanted to talk about things like crushes, she wanted to engage in friendly banter about menial topics, or be part of an inside joke. As much as she enjoyed it, teaming up with Flayn to pull pranks on her father was starting to get old. 

She wanted to eat in the dining hall and be deployed on missions with her classmates. She wanted to sit in a classroom with others and debate upon strategies. She wanted to spar at the training grounds and kick the heir of Fraldarius’ ass. She wanted to stress over things like essay due dates and certification exams. She wanted to be assigned a weekly task, even if it was to clean manure out the stables. 

Byleth just wanted to feel normal, even for a little bit, before she was forced to take up the mantle of Archbishop and was barred from normalcy forever.

Her grandmother’s sigh is accompanied by a deep frown. “Love...I see where you’re coming from, but I just can’t let you run wild with a group of children who can hardly protect themselves. The trouble you may find yourself in should you allow yourself to depend too heavily on them...Your safety is of the utmost importance.”

Of course. It always came back to that. The extenuating circumstance that had apparently put her on a pedestal so high that normalcy was never an option to begin with.

She hadn’t exactly come here expecting to be understood, but the rejection still stings. Byleth never asked for much. She kept her head down and played the role of a puppet, letting Rhea pull the strings for the majority of her burgeoning adult life. “I...I understand,” Byleth mutters with a heavy heart. Deep down, Byleth had always known that Rhea would say no, but she’d hoped against all odds that this time might be different.

Before Rhea can attempt to comfort her, Seteth knocks on the doorframe, half his body hidden behind the door. “Apologies, Archbishop. I hope I’m not interrupting any matters of importance.”

“No, Uncle, you can come in,” Byleth answers before Rhea can say otherwise. Seteth has always been their buffer, and she needs him here now more than ever. “Nothing important ever happens during afternoon tea.” The look she shoots her grandmother is just shy of cold. “ _As always.”_

Her dreams had been crushed yet again. She could afford to be a little petty.

When her uncle steps into the room, Byleth sees that he isn’t alone. His fist is wound into a familiar gold cape, its wearer dragged into the room after him.

“Hey, easy on the cape! A very pretty lady gave it to me this morning.”

Once again, Claude von Riegan stands before her, a smug look on his face and all. “You,” Byleth says, wondering what exactly he was doing here.

“Me,” he winks. “Good to see you again, Your Grace. You too, Archbishop.”

Rhea clears her throat rather loudly, rising from her seat and smoothing her dress, suddenly all business again. “Claude. Have you gotten yourself in some trouble already?” The wary side eye that Byleth makes a point to ignore screams ‘see what I mean?’

Seteth releases his cape, having gone into his strict advisor mode, mouth set in a hard line as his gaze narrows at the boy in front of him. For someone who was just caught eavesdropping on the Archbishop, he looks oddly at ease, his posture relaxed. “I found him outside your door, eavesdropping.”

Claude holds his hands up as he explains himself. “It wasn’t intentional, I swear. I got lost while looking for Captain Jeralt’s office. I wanted to ask him about a syllabus. He is my professor, after all.” 

Byleth perks up at the mention of the captain. “My father is teaching the Golden Deer?” Being a native Faerghan himself, she knew her father silently preferred the Blue Lions.

Rhea seems less interested in this information. In fact, she only seems more suspicious. “The office’s of all Academy faculty are located on the second floor, as stated during last week’s orientation. Access to the third floor is restricted to students, so how did you even get up here?”

“I told you, I got lost,” he reiterates, though anyone can see that could not be farther from the truth. The stairs to the third floor were at the opposite end of the hallway, quite far from the stairs leading up to the second. ‘Accidentally’ wandering up to the third floor in search of a professor meant you were either incredibly stupid or nosy.

Byleth would bet good money that in Claude’s case, it was the latter.

But she feels slightly bad for him, because he might as well be standing trial in front of the two unimpressed and admittedly intimidating individuals that Byleth calls her family. She’s quite familiar with the feeling, and decides that she’ll pity him just this once. 

She excuses herself from the table, moving in front of Claude to shield him from the piercing glare of her grandmother. “My father is likely in the dining hall grabbing lunch,” she informs him. “Will you need me to show you the way there, or can I trust you make it there on your own?”

The shock on his face is evident in the way his smile wavers in hesitation, eyes flickering between her and her grandmother. “I think I can find my way there.”

“I won’t find you down in the Holy Mausoleum?” She half jokes.

“Already tried that,” he retorts casually, bouncing on his heels. “Couldn’t get that mechanism to take me downwards.”

As both her grandmother and uncle make highly offended noises, Byleth presses her lips together in an attempt to swallow her laughter. It’s with great intrigue that she watches as he once again winks, clasping his hands behind his back and slowly turning on his heel, whistling a jaunty tune as he walks out of the room. “I’ll find the captain later,” he calls over his shoulder, “talk his ear off as we head out on the house leader exercise tonight.”

Byleth hadn’t known what to expect when she’d first met Claude, but she can’t ignore the pull of attraction she feels the second he walks out the door. 

Her father certainly had his work cut out for him.

**__________**

Byleth, against her better judgement, finds herself wandering down to Abyss after her grandmother dismisses her from lunch. She ditches her squabble of retainers using a very experimental warp spell she’d been practicing just for this type of occasion.

She doesn’t quite have the spell perfected, and ends up vomiting her lunch out into a nearby rose bush, much to the horror of the taciturn man from Duscar that she’d seen accompanying prince Dimitri. Byleth wipes the corner of her mouth with her sleeve, sending him an Archbishop-approved wave before heading down through the ill-disguised passageway to the underground. 

Known to be chocked full of criminals and home to other ‘unsavoury types,’ Abyss was strictly off-limits to her and Flayn. Most church folk avoided the place like the plague, which made it the perfect place for her to sneak off to from time to time in order to escape the everyday boredom of her life.

Byleth loved Abyss. Loved the flickering lights and the ominous glow that they cast upon the brick walls of the tunnel. Loved the dance that the dust mites did when they were caught in the light. The crunch of stray papers under her boots was like music to her ears. 

But what Byleth loved most was the air of nonchalance that floated throughout the tunnels whenever she was present. The people of Abyss had their own problems to deal with, things that were much more pressing than the arrival of the heir to the most powerful throne in Fódlan. Here, nobody cared about who she was and treated her like they would anyone else. 

She navigates the maze of halls with ease, turning into the final room on the left and crossing the threshold into the Ashen Wolves classroom.

Yuri leans against the frontmost desk, ankles crossed as he casually sips at a cup of tea. He momentarily lowers the reports he’s engrossed in when her footfalls echo through the small room, lavender eyes tracking her movement. “You’re here early. Balthus isn’t getting his ass kicked around the gauntlet until later tonight.”

Ah, the brawling gauntlet. Where the beefiest of beefcakes traded blows to prove their strength and superiority. Where Yuri and Byleth wagered their spare gold while Constance and Hapi played cheerleader and patched the King of Grappling up afterwards.

“As much as I’d love to see that again,” Byleth snickers, using her hand to sweep off a layer of dust and grime from a nearby chair before taking a seat. “I’m here to cash in on that favour you’ve long owed me.”

Yuri finally sets his papers and tea down, arms crossed over his chest. “Is that so? And which favour is it that I’m supposedly repaying?”

Byleth grabs a nearby sheet of paper and a quill. “Would you like the list sorted alphabetically, or by date? If your brain needs a little reminder, we can start with all the times I covered for when you were in the Academy and broke curfew. Or the times after you were expelled and I bailed you out when you were caught breaking into dorm rooms to steal from the second floor residents.”

Byleth begins to scribble down a few of the incidents when Yuri plucks the quill from her hands. “Hey, some of those noble twats were assholes, and you know it! The rich deserve to be robbed at least once a week. I was performing a public service.”

“I’ve heard it all before, Yuri,” Byleth groans when she senses a rant coming on. “Steal from the rich to give back to the poor, it’s all very noble of you. Now can we get to the part where you agree to finally grant me that which I’m owed?”

With a roll of her eyes, Yuri’s catlike grin appears as he tuts. “Just giving you a hard time, friend. You know I always repay my debts. Just know that I draw the line certain at sexual favours, if you know what I mean.”

“I don’t even want to think about what that might mean,” Byleth shudders, wondering what possibly could be off limits for Yuri Leclerc, Lord of the Underground and all things shady. “But back to my favour…You were house leader when you were part of the Blue Lions, so that means you went on the mandatory team bonding event, correct? The overnight training exercise down in the outskirts of Garreg Mach?” 

Meant to promote leadership and the value of teamwork, the annual house leader trip took place on the first weekend of classes. It was the perfect opportunity for new leaders to test their mettle and pick up some new skills, including basic survival and a quick private weapons class from the captain of the knights himself. For competition’s sake, it was even good for scoping out each other’s weaknesses. 

“I did. It wasn’t too far from here.”

Byleth nods, rising from her seat and lifting her chin indignantly, assuming her proud posture. “I want you to take me there tonight. I want to participate.” She was going to prove to her grandmother that she _could_ in fact take care of herself, and absolutely did not need to depend on anyone. 

“No way,” Yuri refuses immediately, and Byleth groans at his reluctance.

“You owe me! I would go by myself but I’ve never navigated the woods on my own!” The handful of time’s she’d left monastery grounds had been for official church business, limited to the same bare strips of the the pathways to and from the Eastern and Western Churches or the capital cities. Her father had always been with her, along with a battalion of knights and a unit of healers. She’d never gone out for something as menial as _fun,_ because she wasn’t allowed. 

  
  


“No, no, no. I am not smuggling the Archbishop’s granddaughter off of monastery grounds. You know they’d have my head for that. You’ll have to think of something else.”

Now, it’s not often that Byleth plays dirty, but she decides that it’s time to reveal the ace up her sleeve. “Allow me to rephrase then,” she starts. “You’re going to take me down to where they do their training exercise, and in exchange, I swear I won’t tell Constance that you and Balthus were the ones who broke her magic staff when you were playing around in her lab, which is strictly off-limits for dumbasses such as yourselves.”

Yuri is a difficult man to back into a corner, but if Byleth is good at one thing, it’s doing what she has to in order to get what she wants. “But you were the one who broke it,” he points out. 

She _had_ been the one who’d broken it, after she and Hapi had decided to take a peek at Constance's open projects and had gotten a little too excited about the newly reinforced magic staff. “Is that so?” She hums, pulling a thinking face. “And who do you think she’ll believe? One of the highest ranking members of Fódlan’s nobility, who, might I add is the picture of innocence, or the con artist with a colourful history of breaking and entering?”

It’s not often that she pulls rank like that, but hey, a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do when she wants to defy her ancient grandmother and stick it to the law. “You wouldn’t do it.” Yuri claims unsurely, squinting at her. She knows that he’s well aware of who Constance would believe. All that’s left is for him to cave.

“You willing to risk it?” She challenges. “I can go find Constance right now, or we can get ready to sneak off the grounds and no one gets incinerated by a very angry mage.”

Her and Yuri stare at each other in a deadlock. He’s waiting to see if she’s bluffing - which she isn’t - and Byleth is waiting for him to figure that out. 

“You drive a hard bargain, friend,” he mutters. “Bring a good sword and wear proper armour. If you get hurt and I get executed because of it, I’m coming back and haunting you first.” 

**__________**

They leave later in the evening, Byleth leaping out of bed fully dressed as soon as Rhea says goodnight and shuts her bedroom door. 

Donning a heavily hooded grey cloak and armed with her favourite silver sword, the first step that Byleth takes outside of the monastery walls is cathartic. Her blood rushes through her veins with renewed vigor, tingling beneath her skin. In awe, she takes in the nocturnal setting and sounds. The call of an owl, the chirping of crickets, the babbling of a nearby brook. The twinkling starlight that pierces the dark velvet blanket cast over the sky. It’s new and beautiful and wonderful. 

Yuri is on edge, wary of every shadow and leaping to her defense at the snap of each branch. She feels a little guilty for strong-arming him into being her guide, but it’s quickly replaced with excitement as they travel deeper and deeper into the outskirts of Garreg Mach. 

“What do you know about Claude von Riegan?” She finds herself asking when Yuri seems to have calmed down a hair. He was often privy to a wealth of information, especially concerning people of importance.

He tilts his head. “The Alliance heir?” Byleth nods in affirmation. “Not much, other than the fact that he isn’t from around here and he’s got somewhat of a reputation.”

“A reputation?” 

“He’s a charismatic guy,” Yuri shrugs. “Those are the most dangerous. People in power with a silver tongue. He’s been filling in for his grandfather at the Roundtable, and I heard that he’s already butting heads with Count Gloucester. Seems like a troublemaker.”

Judging from the way he’d acted during mass and their tea time altercation, Byleth would definitely call him a troublemaker. Someone who clearly went against the grind, and had no problems in doing so. 

The smell of campfire smoke wafts through the air, and a few yards away, Byleth can make out the red, blue, and yellow capes of the house leaders sitting around a small fire. They made it! 

Yuri stops so suddenly that Byleth runs into his back. He slowly turns to face her, index finger pressed to his lips. A nearby snap of a twig is accompanied by a hushed voice, and Yuri immediately grasps Byleth’s arm, pulling her behind a nearby tree trunk. Her heart is pounding wildly in her chest as Yuri peeks around the tree, clutching the dagger in his hand so tightly that his knuckles are white. 

_“You see that group of pipsqueaks sitting around that campfire? They’re wearing those uniforms from the Officer’s Academy. They’ve gotta be loaded!”_

“Shit,” Yuri curses quietly. “Bandits. I count five.” 

“We can take them,” Byleth says, drawing her sword. This is the perfect opportunity to showcase her ability to defend herself. “Come on, let’s meet up with the house leaders.”

She’s about to step around the tree trunk when Yuri pulls her back again. “Like hell you’re going. You stay here,” Yuri tries to decide for her. “Byleth, I’m not going to let you get yourself killed.” 

Jeez, did _no one_ have faith in her these days? “I can fight. You’ve trained with me, you know I can do it.”

He unleashes a harsh breath through his nose, pressing the fingers of his free hand against his temple. “You’ve never fought actual criminals who want to kill you. It’s a different game out here, By.” 

“I’ll be fine. If I’m ever in any real danger, I’ll retreat,” she promises. 

Yuri grimaces, contemplating it as he looks back and forth between her, the bandits, and the house leaders. “Okay. But you stay at my back and you’re gone the second that you feel like you’re even in a bit of trouble, not when you’re mortally wounded.”

Byleth nods enthusiastically. Despite the situation, she feels so unbelievably good right now. As she and Yuri creep forward, all of her senses are on high alert. Even at night, the colours seem brighter, each noise louder. Adrenaline floods her system like it’s being administered via intravenous drip. 

For the first time in her life, Byleth isn’t bored at all. In fact, she’d never felt more alive. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yuri was actually the one who broke Constance’s magic staff, but it was much easier to mostly glue it back together and tell nosy 1 and nosy 2 about the cool new staff so they could break it themselves.


	3. gold rush

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the title change! I just thought the song was very fitting

_ I don’t like anticipating my face in a red flush _

_ I don’t like that anyone would die to feel your touch _

_ Everybody wants you _

_ Everybody wonders what it would be like to love you _

**____________________**

**Imperial Year 1180**

**Either still the 20th or now the 21st of the Great Tree Moon**

**(Claude is too busy fighting for his life to keep track)**

Being ambushed wasn’t a new experience for Claude. He’d been jumped quite a few times back in the day, and his strategy for escaping with his life had always been the same.

When he shares it with the other house leaders, Edelgard’s face puckers as if she’d swallowed a lemon. “A strategic retreat? That is your genius plan?”

Perhaps not his greatest nor most elaborate, but it’s what Claude had immediately come up with when the bandits had ambushed their little camp. As luck would have it, Captain Jeralt, who’d been leading the trip, had gone just up the road into Remire to stock up on some supplies.

“I don’t see either of you royal highnesses coming up with anything better,” he retorts, his back pressed against Edelgard and Dimitri’s. “In case you haven’t noticed, we’re a little outnumbered here.”

They were outnumbered five to three. Not enough to completely overwhelm them, but enough to make him a little worried. He’d been in worse scraps, that was for sure, but it wasn’t in his interest to return to the monastery beaten and bruised. What standard of leadership would that set? It was in their best interest to make a break for Remire, in the hopes of running into Captain Jeralt on the way.

Judging from the stiff defensive positions that the royals next to him were currently taking, they weren’t keen on retreating without a fight. They really are the epitome of royalty, staying true to their noble codes of chivalry, duty, honour, and all that nonsense, but what good was any of it if you could get killed in the process?

The feral looking bandits start closing in, teeth bared like starving wolves. It’s mid-panic that Claude re-evaluates his options, and the rush of adrenaline shakes his systems awake.  _ Fight or flight?  _

It would be easy to leave. He could do what was best for him and take off, letting the prince and princess buy him time to find the Captain. Leaving would be the  _ smart _ thing to do, and Claude had made it a habit to follow logic before all else.

But there’s this stupid lump within his chest called a heart, and this stormy cloud already forming over his head called guilt. Both were stirring an inner ambush on his conscience, which reminds him that he could never, in good faith, leave any soldier behind. 

So Claude does the dumb thing and stays, as any soft-hearted sucker would. Sighing, he reaches back and pulls an arrow from his quiver. 

Before he can notch it, one of the bandits behind their surly leader releases a guttural noise, and when he drops into the dirt, Claude spots a small throwing knife embedded in the back of his neck. Claude’s head snaps towards the trees, and he spots a flash of lavender catching in the firelight.

The bandit leader doesn’t notice, eyes glued to the blood pooling around his man’s head. “What the—”

The tip of a silver sword pierces through the abdomen of another bandit, the soon-to-be-dead body dropping off the blade like a sack of potatoes to reveal the sword’s wielder. 

Claude drops his bow a half inch when he sees who it is. “No way…”

But yes way, because Byleth Eisner, daughter of all things pure and holy, stands over the man she’d just murdered and  _ smiles.  _ Her face is flushed with excitement, eyes shining brightly in the firelight as she flicks the blood off her blade and calls over her shoulder, “Did you see that? I told you I could do it, Yuri!”

A lavender haired man - Yuri? - leaps out of the bushes and catches the blade of the bandit leader’s axe with his sword. “Not quite the time to celebrate, By.”

“Your Grace?” Dimitri gasps, just as shocked as he and Edelgard are to see the Archbishop’s granddaughter out in the woods.

“What are you waiting for? Don’t just stand there!” Yuri barks, shoving the bandit leader backwards. Whether it’s at them, or at the Archbishop’s scion isn’t clear, but the tone is authoritative enough to break whatever spell had been cast over them, everyone leaping into action. 

Edelgard is the first to act, axe swinging this way and that as she rushes to Yuri’s aid. Claude takes a few steps back, putting a safe distance between himself and the small battle to finish off opponents with his dwindling supply of arrows. 

Honouring the partnership between the Church and the Holy Kingdom, Dimitri immediately moves to cover the revered Lady Eisner. He moves like a knight ripped straight from a Faerghan tale of chivalry, fighting on the behalf of the damsel in distress. 

But Byleth proves to be no damsel as she and Dimitri play a game of keep away with the bandit they’re engaging, trading blows until finally the man makes a fatal misstep and earns a lance through the gut. 

With four bandits down for the count, Claude watches as Byleth’s head whips from side to side, searching for something. “Their leader,” she pants, pointing north with her sword. “He ran that way.”

“Stay here,” Yuri orders. Clearly not keen on being ordered around by who Claude now assumes is her retainer, her entire face winds up in thought. They almost hear the displaced rustle of leaves a second too late, and it’s with blinding reflexes that she grabs the back of Yuri’s collar and pulls him backwards. He narrowly avoids the blade of an axe as the leader makes his surprise return, launching himself out of the woods.

Unfortunately for Claude, that leaves him right in the burly bandit’s path, and he isn’t currently holding a close range weaponsto defend himself with.  _ “Shit,” _ he accidentally curses in his mother tongue, the situation dragging it out of him.

At his wits end, the bandit releases a guttural war cry before charging, and Claude drops his bow, reaching down and fumbling with the dagger he keeps hidden in his boot. 

In another display of her admittedly shocking battle prowess, Byleth leaps in front of him, her sword cutting a menacing upwards arc through the air and sending the bandit flying backwards. 

“Are you alright, your Grace?” Dimitri asks as they watch the man stumble away, clutching his gut. Claude picks up his bow and takes aim, letting an arrow fly into the dense forest and listening for the ensuing  _ thwack _ as the arrow meets flesh. That should keep him from coming back. “What are you even doing out here?”

“I wished to come along,” she answers simply, delivering a shrug of her shoulders. “Now, when my grandmother inevitably hears of what transpired, would you say that my assistance was of use?”

The look on her face turns expectant as she blinks, awaiting their response. “What?” Claude chuckles before Edelgard and Dimitri can answer. “You want a performance review or something?” So maybe she’d saved his life  _ a little. _ Did she want him to get on his knees, kiss her hands, and thank her holiness?

“What Claude means to say,” the princess interrupts, shouldering him aside. “Is that your involvement was a great help, and most certainly saved our lives.” Both the prince and princess grace her with respectful bows, and before Claude can say anything more, Dimitri grasps the back of his neck and uses that damn strength of his to force him down into a bow of his own.

“Great, you got what you wanted to hear,” Yuri huffs as the three of them rise, Claude rubbing the back of his neck. That damn Blaiddyd strength… “Now can we get out of here before—”

“Kid? What in blazes are you doing here?” 

The four of them start at the sound of Captain Jeralt’s voice, weapons lifted in momentary panic. On the other hand, Byleth bounces with barely controlled glee as her the Captain slides off his horse.

“I did it, Father! I went outside and fought bandits!” She announces, proudly showcasing her blood-slicked blade. “That’s what they do in the Officer’s Academy, is it not?” The captain looks stunned, and a dash horrified before his eyes flick to the person behind her.

“Leclerc. Get your ass over here.” 

Claude swears he sees her retainer wince, looking like he wanted nothing more than to shrink back into the shadows of the night as he reluctantly steps forward. “Sir?”

“You fought bandits? How many?”

“Five, sir.”

The man strokes his chin thoughtfully. “Byleth fought with you?”

He can tell Yuri is trying to keep his face passive, but Claude detects the tightness in his jaw almost immediately. “She did, sir. I tried to tell her not to--”

“But you brought her out here in the first place, didn’t you?”

Yuri’s face pales as Byleth steps between them. Captain Jeralt stands a full three or four heads taller than her, but the stare of those deep intensity of those blue eyes is enough for any man to sink within their depths. “It’s not his fault. I forced him to.”

He eases off the retainer, whose entire body visibly slumps with relief. “You know you’re not supposed to leave the monastery, Byleth.”

“Why not?” she demands, challenging the captain of the Knights of Seiros in a way only his daughter could. Dimitri and Edelgard look wildly uncomfortable as the father and daughter stare each other down, but Claude only wishes they’d brought snacks. 

He really hadn’t thought the Officer’s Academy would be  _ this _ entertaining. Claude had expected many things of Fodlan, but nothing could have prepared him for the amount of familial drama rooted into its hierarchies. 

“You know why it’s not safe for you to be out and about, By,” the Captain sighs, rubbing his temple. “Your grandmother is going to throw a fit if she finds out you’ve left the grounds.”

“Then don’t tell her!” 

Did he smell trouble within the Holy Family? Between their issues and that of the royal step-siblings at his side, Claude certainly had his research cut out for him. 

Byleth squeezes her eyes shut and takes a deep breath in through her nose. Claude expects guilt, or maybe even worry to flash across her face at the mention of angering her grandmother, but when her eyes open, he doesn’t see either. No, the blue in her eyes has darkened into a stormy grey, which Claude recognizes as the colour of the troubled waters during a storm, threatening to sink the ships on Derdriu’s waters.

“I’m not a child anymore. I don’t need to be protected all the time,” she snaps. “I need to  _ get out _ .” She gestures to the bloody bodies around them. “This is the most fun I’ve had in weeks!”

No one dares interrupt to tell her that showing off the bodies of the people who’d just attacked them isn’t necessarily a great argument. Though she must be bored out of her mind if  _ this  _ was her idea of a good time. What did heirs to churches do in their free hours, anyways? 

Claude honestly had no idea.

As expected, Captain Jeralt doesn’t look at all like he pities his daughter. The man pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs deeply. “We’ll talk more about this later. For now, let’s just get you kids back to the monastery. I need to report the bandit sighting to Lady Rhea. By, you’re riding with me.”

“I’m perfectly capable of walking on my own, you know— hey!” She yelps as her father picks her up, hoisting her up onto his mount and clambering up behind her. Byleth glowers in her seat as Captain Jeralt looks down at the three house leaders. “Alois will escort you guys back, he’s just up the path. Leclerc, can you hold down the fort until he gets here?”

The lavender haired man nods earnestly. “I can, sir. And...I apologize for—”

He dismisses the apology before it’s even finished. “It’s not your fault, don’t worry about it. I’m sorry she dragged you into this.” He urges his mount to a gallop as Byleth opens her mouth to complain, leaving the four of them with the mysterious retainer. He runs a hand through his long hair, exhaling a sharp puff of air.

“Well. That’s the last time I ever let myself get blackmailed by her.” 

Claude’s brows arch in surprise. “As her retainer, aren’t you supposed to, I don’t know, do what she asks without having to be blackmailed into it?” Though he’s shocked that someone that’s meant to be the picture of innocence is going around blackmailing people. Maybe she was more interesting than he thought.

He sends Claude a catty side glance. “Retainer?” He repeats, the look on his face half offended and half amused by the notion. “You really are new around here, aren’t you?” He says as if Claude is supposed to know exactly who he is.

“If you are not her retainer, then why did you escort her Grace out here in the first place?” Edelgard asks for the three of them. She’s eying him in that way she does, those icy violet eyes trying to pierce through his defences.

Visibly unaffected, the non-retainer immediately scoffs. “That, I believe, is none of your business, Princess. Let’s keep our questions to ourselves, yeah?”

Claude can tell from the shocked look on the princess’ face that she isn’t used to people speaking to her in such a manner, and  _ swears _ he sees Dimitri’s shoulders tremble as he bites his lip and turns away. She swats him on the arm, and the prince mutters an apology that  _ almost _ sounds sincere.

An eccentric church heir, the sassy swordsman that protected her, and the arguably odd dynamic of the royals he was destined to lead alongside of. It seemed that Claude’s time at the Officer’s Academy was shaping up to be  _ much _ more riveting than he expected.

**__________**

Byleth’s grandmother was a calm woman by nature. To most of Fódlan, she was the gentle, loving Archbishop, ever patient and kind to those deserving of her affection. Seeing her angry was a rare occasion. Byleth had only seen her so on a handful of times.

Such as now. 

“How could you be so  _ reckless _ ?” Rhea seethes, surely wearing a trail into the floorboards as she paced about the room. “You are smarter than this, Byleth!”

She was smart, which is why she’d outfitted herself with the best silver sword her gold could buy and had chosen the company of a swordsman with ample skill and experience. “I was never in any real danger,” Byleth insists, though it’s mostly to her Uncle Seteth, who often chose to express his displeasure by way of a silent, stern look. Not nearly as devastating as the rage glowing in her grandmother’s eyes, but just as uncomfortable. “My father was there, as was Yuri!”

“A resident of Abyss!” Her grandmother sputters before Seteth can open his mouth. Byleth hates the negative connotations associated with the place beneath the Church. “One who dubs himself ‘Lord of the Underground!’”

Goddess, she’d  _ told _ him to not accept that tacky nickname, fitting as it may be. “You were the one who forced him down there,” Byleth shoots back. “He’s not a bad person, he was part of the Academy once.” 

“He was expelled when he became entangled within a string of  _ murders _ !” 

Ah, yes. There was that, wasn’t there? Sometimes Byleth did forget that Yuri was indeed some sort of...shady character. It mattered not though, he was one of the few that had her trust. “That has yet to be factually proven…”

“It matters not! You allowed him to escort you off of monastery grounds! Why would you do that?” She questions as if Byleth were on trial for breaking some sort of law. “Why would you  _ want  _ to leave a place where you are always protected?”

“I wanted to prove myself!” She finds herself shouting back, rising from her seat and planting both her hands on the oak desk separating them. “To you and to my father! To everyone! You all cannot protect me forever, or hold my hand and pull me around the room like a child. As the future leader of the Church, I must learn how to do things on my own. Foster relationships and alliances  _ on my own.  _ How will the Knights even trust my command if I’ve no battle experience of my own?”

Her grandmother says nothing, letting her anger stew as Seteth rubs his temples and sighs. “She is right, Rhea. When the time comes for her to ascend the throne of the Church...She must be able to make decisions for herself. Even you and I have considerable battle experience…As does Cethleann.”

“Those were different times,” Rhea snaps. “We  _ had _ to take up arms and put our lives on the line. Byleth does not have to, but for some reason wishes to do so!” She says, as if Byleth had not simply wished to attend the Academy, but suddenly wished to fight on the front lines of a war that was not happening. “What if she were to lose her life on a mere mission? As the one blessed by the progenitor god, she must fulfill her duty to the Church first and foremost—” 

“Byleth has a duty,” Seteth agrees carefully. “But she is still learning, Rhea. I understand the need to shelter her...but if she is to lead the Church, she must go out and experience the world for herself. They say experience breeds wisdom, after all.”

Byleth would hug him if she could. 

Her uncle, forever the middle man, whose experience with his own daughter often nudged him over the line of neutrality to Byleth’s side. She should make a habit of asking him for things more often.

Rhea seems to think long and hard about her advisor’s words, eyes shut as she takes a few deep breaths to steady herself. This was how it often went. After the initial outburst, the Archbishop was much more pliable and susceptible to reason, if she desired to see it.

“Give her a chance, Rhea.”

Sitri Eisner’s soft voice breaks through the awkward quiet of the audience chamber, alerting them to the nun’s presence in the doorway. 

“Just the other week you were opposed to the idea when your husband brought it up,” Rhea points out.  _ They were talking about it? _

Byleth feels warm hands squeeze her shoulders, and hears her mother hum in acknowledgement. “That may have been true at the time, but he did say that she handled herself quite well. Perhaps it’s time we give her a bit more freedom, wouldn’t you agree? She is turning eighteen this year. Jeralt says there’s a student in his class at the tender age of fifteen.” 

Again, her grandmother goes silent, the lines of her forehead deepening as she folds her hands atop of the desk. She sighs again. It sounds tired and utterly defeated. “Which class should we place her in? The Blue Lions seems like a good fit...”

Byleth’s heart leaps into her throat. Was this really happening? If she’d known sneaking out was all it took to change her grandmother’s stubborn mind, she would have done so she’s ago. 

Beside her, Seteth clears his throat. “You could place her in her father’s class. Jeralt will be supervising the missions, and will undoubtedly be her fiercest protector.”

“Very well,” Rhea says shortly, and Byleth reaches up to grip her mother’s hand. “Don’t get too excited yet. I have a few conditions.” 

“Anything,” Byleth agrees, her cheeks glowing with impish glee. She’d agree to just about any demand if it meant she could finally join the Academy. 

“Yuri. He will be added to your service as your official retainer for the duration of the semester. As such, he’ll be added back onto the Academy’s roster.”

Byleth pauses. “I don’t know if he’d agree to that.” He wasn’t the type to have his wings tied down, preferring to act as he pleased and enter business with who he desired. Not to mention the monastery certainly wasn’t lacking in such services available for hire. “Why him?” 

Rhea’s lips purse tightly, the way they do when she’s hiding the truth. “He owes me more than you might think. Seteth, could you draft a letter for the fearsome Lord of the Underground to remind him of such? Tell him that he’ll be compensated handsomely, and his previous transgressions...shall be officially pardoned.” 

“He’s an adept healer and a formidable swordsman,” Sitri reminds her. “Not to mention that he is your  _ friend. _ It’s better than having some clunky knight following you around all day, is it not?”

Byleth certainly couldn’t imagine Alois sitting in a desk behind her, constantly cracking jokes that made her father roll his eyes. Catherine would yawn too loudly, which also made her father roll his eyes. Shamir would wad up balls of paper and use her father’s forehead for target practice, causing him to, you guessed it, roll his eyes and huff.

Yes. Yuri was the best option. He would sit quietly and do his job to get paid. Her father liked Yuri. 

So did Byleth. He was her friend.

As her grandmother and uncle drone about not abandoning her existing responsibilities as heir, Byleth smiles despite herself. 

_ Friend. _

Maybe...she hadn’t been alone as she thought.

**__________**

When Claude walks into class the following Monday, the last thing he expects to see is the Archbishop’s granddaughter sitting at the front of the class.

But there she is, seated comfortably with her back straight and head held high. A piece of paper and quill laid neatly in front of her, alongside a pot of fresh ink.

His eyes sweep over her, perhaps slower than appropriate. Her white gown is replaced by a variant of the black Officer Academy’s uniform, but instead of the typical gold accents and buttons, hers are notably silver. A dark, midnight navy cape rests over her left shoulder, and Claude wonders what the hell this means. 

Only house leaders wore capes like that.

“Your Holiness?” He dares ask, setting his books down on her desk. “If you missed this roguishly handsome face of mine, you could have just invited me to tea.”

Her face remains unreactive, so she either didn’t care for his flirtatious remark, or didn’t pick up on it. “I’m part of your class,” she informs him. “Did you not know this?” 

Claude blinks a few times, his brows knotting as the easy smile on his lips twitches. “What?” He knew that students transferring classes was a typical occurrence, but he thought that would mean Felix would make the switch to study swordsmanship under Captain Jeralt.

“Good, it seems you two have acquainted yourselves.” 

Claude springs back a few steps as Byleth’s lips curve into a smile as the captain/professor stalks into the room, followed by the non-retainer they’d met last night. “Professor Jeralt!”

His new professor clamps his hands down on the shoulders of the two new people. “Brat— uh, I mean Claude, this is Byleth, and this here is Yuri. They’re joining our class. You two,” he gestures between Claude and the Church heir, “are going to be co-house leaders.”

One word flashes through Claude’s mind. 

_ Nepotism. _

**__________**

Claude didn’t like this. Oh, he did not like it at all.

It wasn’t the co-leadership part he was having trouble with. If he were being honest, it was nice to have someone else share in that responsibility. Throughout the week, everyone seemed to go to Byleth more often than they did Claude. It was like they were drawn to her. It seemed that the whole monastery was. 

What Claude had a problem with was the fact that he was drawn to her too. He didn’t find his focus drifting to just about anyone.

It was that nonsensical pull of attraction that irritated him, because he hardly knew this girl. She was heir to the most influential throne of Fódlan, yes, but what made her so special? 

Claude had never been a devout follower of the Seiros faith. He found it hard to sit still during mass and found it even more difficult to memorize prayers. As a result he didn’t worship the blessed heir like he knew many others did. The higher ups of the Church held her in the highest of regards, but none of that ‘she who is blessed by the goddess’ spiel meant anything to Claude.

So what was it that drew him to her? Surely it couldn’t be her looks, he would never compare himself to the likes of Sylvain, or even Lorenz. He wasn’t like Marianne, who so yearned to be recognized by someone so divine. There had to be something more….

Saturday comes, and Claude badgers Leonie until she agrees to trade his stable duty for her sky watch. 

“You’re not Leonie.”

Of course she beat him to the aviary, because Byleth Eisner is  _ never _ later than five minutes early. “What gave it away?” Claude asks, throwing his hands up behind his head and leaning against a nearby beam. “Was it my luscious brown hair, or perhaps my distinct lack of breasts?”

Her nose wrinkles in the cute way it does when she hears something distasteful, her cheeks flushing ever so slightly. “You’re loud, and you always whistle the same song.”

So he had been. She’s much more observant than he gives her credit for. Sensing the turn this conversation could take on the song’s origin’s, he deflects. “Do you even know what you’re doing there, your Holiness?”

Claude nods his head towards the rope in her hands, and she shrugs. “I’ve never tied a halter myself.”

Of course she hadn’t. She probably had people to do so for her. Such was the case for many Fódlan nobles, as the majestic steeds they rode into battle had been prepared by a mere servant of the house. He doubts she’d ever even flown on her own before. If she wasn’t even allowed off monastery grounds, how could they entrust her to the unpredictable skies? 

“No bodyguard today?” He asks conversationally, folding the rope in half. Claude looks around again, eyes failing to find any sign of Yuri, the non-retainer turned retainer in a twist of amusing faith. 

She copies his movements, and Claude shows her where to make two knots. “He had...a late night,” Byleth sighs dismissively, which only makes Claude want to know more. 

“Studying?” He guesses, but makes note to keep a closer eye on that mysterious retainer of hers. 

“Sure,” she shrugs, holding up the rope for him to see. “I think I’ve watched my father do this next part. Do the loose ends go in front or behind the loop for the nose band?”

“Behind,” Claude confirms. “So you cross them under. Then you do this…” He crosses the large loop through. She catches on quicker than Claude expects, which he assumes he can attribute to Captain Jeralt’s experience on a mount. “What do you think about the Academy so far?”

“It’s wonderful,” she replies, though she seems more interested in the rope than in making conversation. “Everyone is so nice.” 

“You clearly haven’t gotten on Lorenz’s bad side then,” he scoffs lightly, recalling the scolding he’d gotten just yesterday when he’d been wandering the monastery halls. In Lorenz’s eyes, his aimless wandering had meant he was up to no good. So what if he was following the Archbishop’s advisor around? No one had been the wiser. “He’s had it out for me since I was recognized as heir. He can be such a sourpuss.”

The sharp exhale might be the closest thing to a laugh he’s elicited from her. 

Flooded with renewed confidence, Claude takes it as a sign to continue on. “What do you think about our fellow house leaders? They’re quite the pair, aren’t they? With the way they argue sometimes, you’d think they’d wage war to prove their point.”

“They have a healthy rivalry, as you and Lorenz do,” she points out, as if he and Lorenz had been the ones who’d entered a heated debate about the best types of sweets in the courtyard the other day. Despite popular opinion, Claude had absolutely not been the one to instigate the argument. He just wanted to know which treat he should get for dessert.

“So, what made you want to join the Officer’s Academy?”

“I was bored,” she answers simply. “For years I’ve watched students come and go. I’ve seen them learn and venture out into the world to make something of themselves. Everyone that graduates goes on to do something with their lives. I...wanted to do that.”

He tilts his head at her, trying not to show how shocked he is by her honesty. “You’re going to be Archbishop. That’s about as great a gig as anyone could get.”

“Yes,” she smiles, though her eyes seem to convey something else. Every muscle in her face tensed, and without a word communicated something sadder than Claude had expected.“That just means that everyone will get to move on without me. I’ll always be stuck here,” she says softly, fiddling with the rope in her hands. “At least for this year I’ll be able to see Fódlan in a different lens.”

Before he can say anything more, she clears her throat dismissively. “Why are you here instead of Leonie?” She questions, her face the same smooth canvas he was used to seeing as she carefully placed the new halter onto an ebony pegasus. “You were meant to be on stable duty with Lorenz.”

Taking her cue to back off, Claude tosses the halter onto a nearby wyvern, patting the beast’s scales gently as he eases it on. “Can you blame a guy for wanting to get to know you better?”

“Plenty of people wish to get to know me.” She drags a step stool out from the corner of the stables, using it to hoist herself up onto the pegasus. “What if I wanted to get to know you better?” 

“I’m an open book, your Holiness,” he winks, rocking back and forth on his heels. “And not one of those trashy romantic novels that Hilda likes to read. I’m a valuable first edition.”

She stares at him for a few seconds, the look on her face curious before it melts away into one of pure amusement, and she  _ laughs,  _ and the sound was like a stone bouncing across a calm lake, creating ripples of mirth where there had previously been none. 

“What’s so funny?” he asks, though Claude is smiling too, and it isn’t at all forced.

“Nothing, it’s just...I should have expected it,” she sighs, biting her lip to keep from laughing any more.

“What? That Hilda’s a sucker for some repressed regency romance?” He asks as he unlatches the gates to let their mounts on, and clambers atop the brown wyvern.

Across from him, Byleth pulls on a pair of worn, leather riding gloves, flexing her fingers a few times. “No, that I knew. She speaks of them quite often.” She pauses, searching for the right word. “What I didn’t expect...was for you to be such a  _ gossip _ .”

Claude had been called a lot of things in his life. He’d been dubbed a schemer, stubborn, a lot of inappropriate racial slurs. Never in his life had he been called something as petty as a  _ gossip. _

It was mean, it was hurtful, yet it was completely true and he’d be a fool to deny it.

Byleth seems pleased with his stunned reaction, and with a flex of legs that were much more muscular than he’d expect for a Church girl, the pegasus gallops out of the stables and launches into the sky. 

Though he’s still recovering from the verbal blow she’d dealt to his ego, Claude manages to get his wyvern into the sky after her, barely matching the breakneck speed she was setting. His mouth drops open as he watches her pegasus do a barrel roll, and when she’s upright again, Claude can’t help but stare.

As they gain altitude, the golden rays of the sleepy dawn bathe her in a warm light, illuminating her pale skin and making her every feature glow. Her hair and cape flow behind her in a sea of gentle blue waves, and the silver accents of her uniform gleam and twinkle when they catch each ray of light.

Maybe it’s the exhilarating feeling of flying, or maybe it’s something a little more that causes butterflies to erupt in his stomach, and it feels new and exciting and terrifying at the same time.

His wyvern roars in delight at the cathartic feeling of a morning flight, shaking Claude out of his stupor and suddenly making him very aware of the rose blush creeping up the side of his neck. “I didn’t know you flew,” he sputters in a very lame excuse to explain his intense stare.

“You never asked,” she calls back cheekily, looking forward again and closing her eyes, her chest rising and falling as she takes a deep breath of the fresh morning air. “My mother trained as a Dark Flier before obtaining her Trickster certification.”

Claude doesn’t say anything more, clutching his reins tightly and watching with great intrigue as she leads her pegasus into a dizzying set of loops and dips, her laughter floating through the sky and replacing the sound of the rushing wind.

All at once, the pull Claude had felt suddenly feels more like an anchor, dragging him down into the unexplored depths of her ocean. He _wanted_ to know more.

And he was completely captivated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yuri, working hard to get that pay, is hiding in a bush armed with a bow and arrow.   
> _____
> 
> In the next chapter, we will be throwing it back to the angst of 1186! Yay.
> 
> chapter 4: everybody moved on


	4. everybody moved on

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello, yes, i'm alive. i've been writing a lot of felileth lately. oops.

_You left me no choice_

_But to stay here forever_

**____________________**

**Imperial Year 1186**

**19th of the Blue Sea Moon**

Byleth can feel Claude’s eyes follow her as she walks away, his stare making her feel as uncomfortable as the corset bound around her torso. She wonders if he’s feeling just as tortured as she is, and if he too feels as if he’s drowning in five years worth of unspoken words. 

She wonders if, during those five years, he missed her just as much as she missed him.

Gods, just thinking about it makes Byleth want to leave, but her duty to the Church and her fiancé keep her grounded. Reminding herself of her role, Byleth takes a deep breath and holds her head up high, her smile all teeth as she braves yet as she prepares to face another round of meaningless chatter and idle conversation. What more can she do when her heart is breaking but all of Fodlan is here, watching?

She makes small talk with Dorothea and Petra about the upcoming wedding ceremony, what flowers are to be in her bouquet, what colour her bridal party is wearing. The answer is Church sanctioned lilies, of course, with her bridesmaids and Dimitri’s groomsmen wearing Church navy uniforms and gowns complete with Blaiddyd blue sashes. 

She chats with Felix and Ingrid when they ask if she’s been training regularly. The answer to that question is always the same; not as often as she likes-- she just doesn’t have time. A sad reality due to her growing responsibilities.

All the while, she can always spot Claude in the corner of her peripheral, indiscreetly following her from a distance as he engages their old classmates. It’s on more than one occasion that Byleth finds her eyes unconsciously drifting over the shoulder of whomever she’s speaking with to watch him. 

He’s just as lively as she remembers, an exuberant story teller and an excellent conversationalist. Five years has done nothing to dull the charm that had drawn her to him they’d first met. It was that warm, infatuating smile that distracted people from eyes that were sharp and calculating, always searching for weakness. She wonders what weaknesses he’d seen in her.

She’s watching him speak with Leonie when his eyes catch hers, and the chatter of the room suddenly fades into a muffled murmur as Byleth’s heartbeat pounds in her ears. For a moment, it’s just the two of them standing alone in a crowded room. 

Claude looks away first, and her heart sinks into her stomach.

Byleth blinks once, twice, then excuses herself from the conversation she’d long tuned out of with Ferdinand. The buffet table is looking relatively empty, so that’s where she heads first, reaching for a porcelain plate with fingers that won’t stop trembling. She’s stacking her plate with an unreasonable amount of sweets when she sees Claude standing across from her, holding a plate of his own.

“Go away,” she mutters, snatching a sweet bun. “Please.”

Before Claude can even open his mouth to defend himself, Yuri appears and snatches the back of his shirt, dragging him back until they disappear into the throng of nobles.

Hilda suddenly materializes at her side, stealing a few cookies from her plate. “Don’t worry about him, By. We don’t need him putting a damper on your party!” she huffs, but Byleth knows that the anger that so easily slips from Hilda’s face is but a mask she uses to hide the extent of her own hurt. 

All the house leaders at the Academy had some sort of second in command, whether that be in the form of a close friend or a personal retainer. Byleth had Yuri, Dimitri had Dedue, Edelgard had Hubert, and odd as it may seem, Claude had always had Hilda. Sometimes Byleth forgot that she wasn’t the only one he’d so readily left behind.

Byleth can hardly smile, but manages to send Hilda a small one before excusing herself once more. Keeping her pace and steps even, Byleth shoulders her way through the crowd of her former classmates and doesn’t look back. Doing her best to keep her face passive, she’s almost at the door when a hand wraps around her upper arm, halting her retreat.

“Are you alright?”

Dimitri releases her the moment she turns around, blue eyes regarding her with genuine worry. “I’m fine,” she answers. 

Of course she knows that Dimitri won’t believe her. He’s far more observant than Claude had ever been willing to give him credit for, and he’d known that today would be hard for the both of them.

“Everyone,” he says, turning to address the rest of the room. Byleth immediately links her arm through the crook of his elbow. “We thank you for joining us today, but it would seem that my fiancee and I require a moment of respite. Do not let our absence dictate your afternoon, so please, feel free to continue on without us or simply take your leave.” The announcement is casual but commanding, leaving no room for dispute but giving their guests a choice. 

Across the room, her grandmother doesn’t look too pleased, but when does she ever?

“Thank you,” Byleth whispers as he walks her out of the hall. “You didn’t have to leave with me, you could have stayed. I know it’s been a while since you’ve seen your friends.”

“I do not mind,” Dimitri says with a slight shake of his head. “Social events such as this aren’t exactly my favourite thing about being king. They are much too…” He gestures vaguely.

“Social?” Byleth offers. 

“Yes,” he chuckles, but it turns into a deep sigh as they continue walking through the heavy summer air. “It wasn’t just that, however. You didn’t seem well in there and I...saw you speaking with Claude earlier.”

Something ugly curls in her stomach. “Oh?”

Dimitri leads her to the gazebos, pulling a chair out for her to sit. He settles into a seat across from her, pulling at the collar of his shirt. It’s suddenly very awkward. “Er, I know it must be difficult seeing him again. I know that you were quite close once.”

Understatement of the millenia. “Not so much anymore.” 

“So it seems.”

It’s not often that she and Dimitri are alone together. Since their engagement, they’d only actually seen each other a handful of times, and in the company of advisors and relatives, but never alone. 

“It is hard,” he says softly, folding his arms on the table and looking out at the gardens next to them with a somber expression. “Seeing everyone again and seeing how much they’ve all changed.” 

“We’ve changed too,” Byleth points out. He almost seems sad.

He clears his throat, sighing from a place deep in his chest. “Perhaps. But was it in ways of our own, or in ways that are expected of us? After graduation my friends all went on to live their lives. Sylvain’s been travelling, Felix has continued training, Ingrid and Ashe now serve House Blaiddyd as knights. Annette and Mercedes are teaching. In comparison to them, I feel as though you and I have been stuck, in a way.” 

His meaning is quite clear to her. Did the two of them become all they aspired to be? Or did they simply fill the mold of who they were required to become? Bound by a sense of duty and loyalty to the country and people they are meant to serve.

“Everybody moved on without us,” Byleth murmurs. 

Including Claude.

Dimitri’s smile is half-hearted at best. “They have.” He holds his hand out to her, palm upturned. “I’m sorry you have to marry me, as you can see I can be quite melancholic.”

Byleth places her hand in his, squeezing it tightly. “You’re a good man, Dimitri. It’s an honour to marry someone like you.” 

“You say that now, but Felix and Sylvain say that I snore like a wyvern.” 

“Snoring is the least of our foreseeable marital issues,” Byleth laughs, releasing his hand. “Besides, I likely won’t be sharing a bed with you until…” She stops mid-sentence, almost choking on the words. “Until it is time to conceive an heir.”

A blush creeps up Dimitri’s neck to the tip of his ears, and he’s looking anywhere but her face. “Right. Forgive me, it isn’t you, you are a beautiful woman and— no, that sounds awful to say, all women are— I mean, the thought of you— of you and I—” 

“It’s weird, I know,” Byleth interrupts before he stumbles through the entire dictionary. “But it is part of the contract, is it not?”

“It...is,” he sighs, slumping defeatedly, looking and sounding just as enthusiastic as Byleth feels about it. 

“Your Majesty, Your Grace, I apologize for interrupting.”

Dimitri startles slightly, immediately straightening his back and fixing his uniform. “Rodrigue.”

“Hello,” Byleth waves. “We were just chatting, I’m sorry for stealing your liege away from the party.”

Rodrigue waves off her apology with an ease so unlike his son. “No need for apologies. This is your home, we are merely guests here. I must, however, borrow your fiance. Just to discuss some news out of Faerghus, nothing major.”

“Of course,” Dimitri sighs, pushing out of his chair. He spares Byleth a concerned glance. “Ah, Your Grace, would you like me to walk you back to your quarters first?”

An ordinary woman would have been smitten by someone kind, handsome, and so genuinely thoughtful. That had never been Byleth though. Apparently she was attracted to men who were unpredictable, cunning, and overall a bad influence. “No, that’s alright,” she smiles. “I think I’ll enjoy a bit more fresh air.”

Both men nod and bid her good afternoon before walking away. 

As one might have guessed, Byleth’s marriage to Dimitri wasn’t so much out of love. It was a political arrangement, an idea born a mere half-year ago, when the newly crowned Emperor Edelgard of Adrestia had officially dissolved the Southern Church. She’d replaced it with the Ministry of Religious Affairs now led by House Varley in an attempt to smooth the transition into religious autonomy.

Rhea hadn’t been happy about, well, any of that to say the least. The power that the Church of Seiros held over Fodlan had always been on a slow decline, but the pin had dropped when Adrestia had disbanded their southern branch.

It was on equally unsteady footing that her grandmother had called upon the Holy Kingdom, and negotiations had started. The goal was a compromise, a situation where everyone would win. Rhea wanted a stronger Church presence in Faerghus, alongside a stronger alliance. Mutually assured support in the event that something...distasteful might erupt between the Church and the Empire. 

The Kingdom wanted more funding. Since well before the untimely death of their previous king, Faerghus had always been wildly unstable, with its citizens living in poverty, bandits constantly stealing away what little they might own. It was a cold and unforgiving land, but more money meant more security, more trade, and generally better lives.

It was Rhea who’d suggested marriage. With Byleth came a sizable dowry. With Dimitri came an even firmer partnership with the King of Faerghus. 

They say that there’s one sure sign of a successful negotiation, and it’s when both parties walk away feeling screwed. In this case, it was Byleth and Dimitri, who’d sat at opposite ends of the audience chamber red faced and avoiding all eye contact with each other as their advisors drew up the appropriate contracts. It was a win for the Church and Faerghus, that was for sure. 

For Byleth and Dimitri? 

It could have been worse, that was for sure. She could have ended up with someone who didn’t care for her at all. She had no shortage of suitors who saw her as nothing more than a dowry and an empty womb. Dimitri was _good._ A good king who cared for his people and would undoubtedly be good to her. Byleth could have ended up with someone like--

“Hey.”

Speak of the devil.

“What do you want, Claude?” she sighs tiredly, rubbing a hand down her face.

He slides into the seat that Dimitri had occupied, watching her across the table. “You aren’t going to knock my teeth out, are you?”

Byleth fixes him with a glare, the one she uses when she wants to unsettle her opponent. She hears him swallow thickly as she calmly slips Dimitri’s engagement ring off and flexes her fingers. “That depends. Are you going to try and apologize to me again?”

“By, can you just hear me out? Please?” His voice is strained, desperate. So unlike the Claude she’d known.

“Why should I?” She demands, her tongue as sharp as her gaze.

“Closure? Reconciliation?” He suggests, a touch hopeful. “A small stroke of human decency?”

“Decency?” Byleth almost genuinely laughs at that. “You want to talk to me about decency, really?”

He holds his hands up defensively. “Look I know you’re not keen on forgiving me yet, but--”

“No,” she interrupts. “I’m not.” Five years of carefully suppressed anger was boiling up again, her hurt rising like steam and burning her on its way out. “You _left,_ Claude. You just disappeared and I had no idea what happened to you. None of us did. I had to hear it from _Lorenz._ Lorenz! And that was eight months after the graduation ceremony you skipped! Do you have any idea how hurt we were? How hurt _I_ was?” 

Claude reaches across the table, grabbing hands that Byleth hadn’t even realized were curled into fists. “I did it for you,” he insists, and there’s something so raw and unfiltered in his voice that she’s almost inclined to believe him. “I need you to know that.”

She flinches out of his grasp, wrapping her arms around herself as she rises from her seat and prepares to walk away. “How was that for me? You didn’t choose me when you did that. You chose you,” she’s almost shouting now, each voice laced with a tremble. “You always choose you. You’re selfish and you lie and sometimes you forget that you hurt people when you do it.” 

Claude doesn’t say anything to defend himself, averting his gaze to the ground. He looks like a hurt puppy, and Byleth immediately wishes she could take back her words. “I didn’t think anyone would care if I left,” he admits quietly. 

Each word out of his mouth feels like a dagger pushed through her heart. “Even me?”

“Byleth…”

“You left me here,” she says softly. “You knew what I was going through back then and you left anyway. I told you everything, and you couldn’t even write to tell me that you were okay.”

The not knowing had hurt the most. Not knowing where he was, what he was doing, or why he’d left. Not knowing if it had been something she’d done or said that had driven him away.

Something like confusion flashes across his face. “I’m--”

“Sorry?” Byleth finishes for him. “Yeah, I know you are,” she says bitterly. “You’re sorry because you want to make sure that the Church and Faerghus will support Almyra in their future endeavours. You’re sorry because you don’t want any tension between the Church and the Alliance. You think that you’re apologizing, Claude, but it’s just another excuse to get what you want.”

With her heart in her throat, Byleth turns on her heel and walks away once more. He walked away from her, and now she was going to the same. 

“I did send a letter,” he calls after her. “A year after I left.” There’s a moment of weakness, a brief second where Byleth wants to turn around, wants to ask more, but instead pretends not to hear.

She’d never gotten a letter.

**__________**

When she’s finally in the privacy of her room, Byleth reaches up and yanks the diadem from her head, letting it drop carelessly onto her vanity. Without the unnecessary weight sitting atop her skull, her fingers work to pluck the golden pins from her hair, letting it fall uselessly around her shoulders.

She grips the edge of her vanity, the wood squeaking as she puts her entire weight against it. Byleth stares at her reflection in the mirror, pushing her bangs aside as she takes a deep inhale, followed by a heavy exhale. In with the good, out with the bad. 

Byleth reaches for her bottle of foundation, tipping the bottle over and allowing a few drops to fall onto the back of her hand. She dabbles her finger into the alabaster liquid, sweeping it over dark circles resting under eyes that are tired and dull. There’s an easy fix to that, and it’s a stick of sharpened kohl that she uses to lightly line her eyes to make them brighter. She can’t find her lip gloss, so she sweeps her tongue over her lips to give them an attractive shine. Wiping her hands on a cloth, she then pats her and pinches at her cheeks a few times to summon a healthy flush in place of rouge. 

She stares at her reflection again, slightly satisfied with the result. It would last her through the coming dinner at least, drawing attention away from her insipid smile. Yuri had once told her that makeup was confidence in a tube, power in a bottle, and ego in an eye palette. For Byleth, makeup provided an illusion.

Something streaks her foundation, cutting a pale purple line through her crafted complexion. 

“Gods,” she mutters when she realizes that she’s crying. Her throat tightens when she tries to swallow back a sob, but she feels the tears prickling behind her eyes, and it isn’t long until the proof of her weakness spills over, tumbling over her cheeks and dripping onto the lacquered wood.

It had taken her five years to completely store away her feelings. It’d taken five years to build, brick by brick, a wall around the part of her life she so desperately sought to forget. 

Yet a two minute conversation was all it had taken to bring it all crashing down again. Byleth feels like she’s suffocating underneath the emotional debris, buried under memories and conversations and forgotten plans. 

The sound of her window sliding open makes her jump, and she does her best to wipe away the tears staining her red face. “Can’t you use a door like a normal person?” 

“Would you have let me in if I knocked?”

She chuckles at that very slightly, lifting her watery gaze to meet Yuri’s in the mirror. 

“You look like shit,” he breathes, pulling something from the hidden pocket of his cloak. “Looks like I showed up at the right time.” He tosses her a flask, and Byleth immediately unscrews the cap, taking a few large gulps. “I never go to a church sanctioned event without it.”

Byleth grimaces as she lowers the flask, handing it back to him. It isn’t like the rich, complex whiskeys that she’d snuck out of her father’s liquor cabinet, whose flavours blended together seamlessly. Yuri’s drinks were always simple and straightforward, making her mouth dry and her lips purse. “Tastes...interesting.”

“Eh, it’s more of a sipping whiskey,” he shrugs, taking a sip and taking a seat atop her dresser. “Better than the overpriced juice that the church puts out. Five percent alcohol content just isn’t enough to drown out the sound of those nobles whining. It only took four drinks to take Gloucester out though. It’s the third time I’ve lifted his watch at one of these.”

Byleth hums in acknowledgement, taking a seat on the edge of her bed. They drink in silence, passing his flask back and forth until they’ve drained it dry, and Yuri tosses it onto her nightstand. As difficult as it was to put down, the alcohol had now settled comfortably in her system, making feel warm and relaxed, turning down the volume of her thoughts. 

“I talked to Claude,” she tells him, picking at a loose thread on her sleeve. 

He eyes her momentarily, no doubt taking stock of the smudged liner and streaked foundation. “I know.” 

“I thought I was over it. Turns out I’m not.” She hadn’t planned to say any of that stuff. It’d been torn out of her in the heat of the moment, each word like glass in her mouth. “I thought that I would just be angry but seeing him just...it hurt. Like pouring rubbing alcohol on an open wound.” 

Yuri’s expression softens slightly, a rare look on the face of the Lord of the Underground. “He broke your heart,” he says matter-of-factly. “Heartache is a whole-body response. Nature’s way of reminding us that love is a brutal, brutal thing. It’s ridiculous, really, how we’re born to make these bonds and how we suffer when they break.” 

Byleth tucks her knees into her chest, wrapping her arms around her legs. “You seem well-versed on the topic.”

There’s something she can’t quite place on the edges of his sad smile. “Yeah, well, there’s a reason as to why I prefer to keep my copulation casual.”

“He was just so exciting,” Byleth murmurs. “Maybe it was the idea of him but...I liked how he made me feel, you know? Like maybe I wouldn’t be stuck here forever.” It was foolish of her to believe that he would be her knight in shining armour, whisking her away to new and exciting lands.

“Loving is always a risk, but when you find someone willing to take that jump with you...It’s pretty damn hard to resist.” He leans back so his hands, tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling. “I think that’s the thing with people like him. Charismatic, passionate, doesn’t adhere to the status quo. It’s that unpredictability that makes them so attractive, but at the same time makes them...unpredictable.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow that made me sad. time to go write some felileth crack again :)
> 
> _____
> 
> talk to me on twitter! @abbycordero7

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! In case you haven't been told today, you are so so loved and appreciated!


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